


Hold Me Down

by SolarPoweredFlashlight



Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 11:43:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarPoweredFlashlight/pseuds/SolarPoweredFlashlight
Summary: Shyvana and Quinn both like to tease; ultimately, one of them will win at this competition to see who can get the other most flustered.





	Hold Me Down

Fancy drapes, fancy halls, fancy speeches, and neither of them belong here – neither of them care.

The nobles put them (two of many ‘Heroes of the War Effort’ special enough to warrant an invitation but not any real attention) at a table where they can just barely see the sovereign leader if they squint. Their tablemates, a grim, bitter captain missing several fingers and a pair of snooty clerk-types, are utterly disinterested in them.

They might have tried to talk to Quinn, but the moment she saw them identify Shyvana and flinch away from her in disgust like a bug in the bread rolls, Quinn affects her rural Demacian accent as thickly as she can to ensure she’ll join the dragon woman in social exile.

So they ignore the speeches, and they ignore the three other War Heroes at their table, and amuse themselves.

Or at least, Quinn does.

She reaches for the pitcher of water across from Shyvana and deliberately “stabilizes” herself with a hand on the woman’s lilac forearm. Her lover sends a look part hunger and part outrage.

But she’s smiling a little – no, smirking. Quinn’s learned to tell the difference in those small, subtle expressions. Shyvana doesn’t emote much, but it’s all there in her body language.

Quinn pours herself the glass of water, then leans in to whisper into Shyvana’s ear.

“You know what I was thinking we should do when we get back to the room?”

The Demacian monarchy provided them with two separate invitations and two separate rooms for this two-day event, but they’ve been exclusively using Quinn’s.

“Mmm?” Shyvana asks, clearly aware that mischief is brewing.

“I was thinking,” Quinn goes on, master of the soft tone of voice that is indecipherable, if not entirely inaudible, to the rest of the table, “about your hands. About how I’d like to kiss each of your knuckles, and then take two of your fingers into my mouth and show you how much I appreciate them.”

Shyvana’s face is perfectly neutral, but she reaches for Quinn’s just-poured glass of water and takes a long drink. She swallows, sets it back down in its place.

“I see,” she says, and Quinn might even have to wonder if that were meant as discouragement if she didn’t see clearly out of her peripherals that Shyvana has moved her nearest leg closer in invitation.

Yes, there’s definitely one way to endure a stuffy two and a half hour round of mandatory politics and snobbery when you’re lucky enough to be seated next to a gorgeous dragon woman.

Quinn brushes their knees together.

“And then,” she murmurs, “maybe after I’d sucked on your fingers for a while - “ she can see the phrase hit Shyvana with a note of hunger, can see it in her eyes, - “I’d kiss my way up your wrist, nice and slow.” Quinn reaches for a piece of bread, like they’re talking casually about the weather. “And then I’d use my mouth to find the sensitive part of your forearm, and just spend a few minutes kissing soft and hot and slow while you squirmed.”

Shyvana looks ready to start squirming already. Quinn is referring of course to the part of her arm where tough, hide-like skin thickens to pebbles of scales – wonderful, sensitive scales – but isn’t entirely sure how much Shyvana likes to have her physiology spelled out explicitly.

Her euphemism seems to have done the trick just fine, from the burning look the woman sends her.

“Sounds nice,” she says, without getting into detail. She isn’t quite as capable of the soft transfer of words as Quinn is.

The scout whispers her hungers to the warrior – the warrior can only growl of hers.

“And then,” Quinn goes on, immensely glad to have this distraction in lieu of having to listen to worthless bureaucrats with no combat experience talk about the glory of war, “I would slowly, slowly work my way up to your neck.”

It goes on like this for another hour.

When the speeches end, neither of them stay for the wine and cheese social.

They’re up and out and on their way back to the room – a burning consensus on what is most important to them right now. When the crowd thins, Quinn feels a large, strong hand on her lower back, pressing against the thin silky fabric of her dress uniform.

“I hope you’re ready to reap the rewards of your campaign,” Shyvana rasps, the most she’s said in one breath all night. Goosebumps rush along Quinn’s shoulders, her thoughts heady with the threat.

“What ever could you mean,” Quinn says, in perfect imitation of the high capitol Demacian they’ve been not-really-listening-to all night.

“Fucking tease,” Shyvana says – frustrated but smug. It’s the last bit that sends a thrill of anticipation through Quinn. Smug means she’s got every expectation of getting revenge.

She walks a little faster.

They say nothing more until they’re in private, and then as the door slams shut and locks Quinn presses herself against her lover, intending to make good on her wicked promises.

Shyvana kisses her with fervor, backing her against the closed door, pressing a muscular thigh between Quinn’s legs, pinning her wrists at her sides. Fire burns, crackles, roars inside of her. She rocks her hips into the solid pillar of her half dragon lover, reveling in the knowledge that nothing she can do is capable of dislodging that magnificent, sturdy body.

Shyvana bites at her lower lip and the surge of sharp, unexpected pain translates directly into another fresh wave of heat coming off of the need that’s been simmering in her body on low for the last hour. Quinn strains against the strong grip holding her wrists, just for the rush of feeling herself make no headway towards escape.

The dark laugh against her ear makes her heart hammer. Her face is pushed to the side with one firm nudge from a powerful jaw, and then her whole world collapses to the sensation of the hot mouth on her neck. She swallows a gasp but can’t stop from squirming. Shyvana chuckles and it only makes the need sharper.

“Such a filthy mouth,” Shyvana growls, her voice like the cold weight of a chain dragged across a bare thigh. “Making me sit there next to all those idiots while you talk a big talk about what you’re going to do when you get me alone.” She grinds her thigh against Quinn and the once-restrained gasp slips loose and escapes her lips. “That’s what I thought,” She smirks, her teeth against the shell of Quinn’s ear. “Did you imagine me helpless, sitting there? Unable to do anything?”

Quinn swallows hard, searches for words, a response. Shyvana bites her neck and coherence vanishes before it even fully forms.

“But I wasn’t helpless,” she continues roughly, punctuating her sentences with ruthless hip motions that make Quinn want to whimper, “I was _planning_. And you know what _I’m_ going to do to _you_?”

Shyvana pulls away, looks her right in the eyes, trapping her in the inferno of her golden magma stare. The predator, the beast, the dragon. A shiver of everything good and glorious and terrified and aroused rushes through Quinn’s entire body.

And then Shyvana releases her wrists, picks her up bodily, walks across the room and throws her onto the bed.

The slam of her back against the mattress is a shockwave of thrill.

She hasn’t even half recovered from it before Shyvana is on top of her.

“I’m going to make you _beg_.”

Her body answers with beautiful conflict; she can’t wait, she wants that so badly – but she won’t give that up, can’t give that up, doesn’t want to be teased, wants to just be fucked, and be fucked now.

“You can try,” Quinn answers, a charged, playful challenge.

Then she surges forward and grabs Shyvana by the shirt, gripping formal military wear – the very outfit that made her rake her eyes over the woman this morning and think 'I’m going to fuck her into the floor tonight’ – with reckless fingers, pressing their lips together in another flurry of kisses.

Shyvana allows this for all of five heartbeats, and then she fists her clawed hand in Quinn’s hair and clenches hard enough for it to hurt, hard enough for Quinn’s breath to catch and eyelids to flutter. She pulls her down to the sheets this way, but Quinn doesn’t release her hold on the shirt just yet – she wants to make Shyvana _make_ her.

And her lover is both aware of this and happy to oblige.

Once her back is to the bed again, Shyvana releases her hair and takes a wrist in each hand, forcibly putting Quinn’s hands above her head. Then she presses her knees between Quinn’s legs and spreads them apart – Quinn resists for the sport of it, a smirk on her face, and Shyvana rebukes her with a spike of strength, grabbing at her arms hard enough to bruise, pinning her legs in place with her own. The smirk melts away, replaced by a need to bite her lower lip and keep in the shuddering breath that would betray her.

Not that Shyvana, smiling wickedly above her, isn’t perfectly aware of just how desperate she already is.

She holds her down and slowly touches cruel kisses to her neck. When Quinn protests by squirming, Shyvana only presses her down harder and then bites hard on her collarbone. This time she can do nothing to hold back the needy whine.

“Poor thing,” Shyvana purrs, holding her helpless with pure brute strength, “you can dish it out but you can’t take it, can you?”

Quinn’s only reply is an indignant huff – she doesn’t trust herself with words because they might accidentally become pleading for Shyvana to just take her.

And then she gets to thinking about how good it will feel when this horrible evil monster’s talented mouth is finally between her thighs and that only makes it worse, and she finds herself grinding up against her, the word please of the tip of her tongue.

“Can’t help yourself, can you?” Shyvana cackles, “you just want to be fucked.”

The sharp, simple obscenity sends Quinn over the edge.

“Come on,” she whimpers, bucking again.

“What was that?”

“Come _on_ ,”

“That wasn’t begging,” she growls, but then suddenly Quinn’s wrists are unhindered and the weight is off her legs and Shyvana is tugging at the belt of her dress pants.

Yes, yes, it worked, finally, cut to the chase, she just wants her so badly -

And then she pulls the belt loose and intercepts Quinn’s hands, already halfway to her horns in anticipation of clinging to them for dear life, and puts her wrists back in place above her head.

“Oh, fuck you,” Quinn groans, straining against her as she ties her hands together with her own belt.

“Not yet you won’t,” Shyvana chuckles, dipping lower and tugging Quinn’s pants down, dropping her head to Quinn’s exposed hip bones to place a sharp sudden bite at the dip there. Patience gone, shame lost, Quinn gasps and swears and writhes against her. Shyvana kisses the now throbbing spot and then continues pulling her pants off of her legs. She has to pause to tug Quinn’s shoes off (at which point Quinn seriously considers kicking her in the face and shouting 'fuck me you three-wheeled ass cart’) before finally she gets them free.

But instead of throwing them to the floor like Quinn is desperately hoping she’s going to do, her ruthless lover brings them up and loops one of the empty pant legs between her wrists and around the belt, and then uses the garment to tie her wrists to the fancy, elaborately carved headboard.

Shyvana sits back and admires her handiwork, clearly amused.

Quinn pouts at her, flexing her fingers. She hurts from the rough pinning and her body is on fire with the need to be touched and she absolutely hates and absolutely loves that she has no control over what will happen next.

She makes her best sulky face and gives her hips another desultory, halfhearted toss.

“You seriously didn’t think there would be any consequences for spending that entire miserable dinner making me horny?” Shyvana purrs, stroking a sharp nail up the inside of Quinn’s bared thigh and getting another whimper out of her.

“Please,” Quinn blubbers, already broken. “Please, please.”

“Better,” Shyvana laughs, but she doesn’t stop with the delicate edge of torture up and down her thigh. Quinn shuts her eyes tight and swallows and shudders every time those fingers brush fleetingly against the very edge of her underwear. She wants to grind herself against any part of Shyvana available but the warm, hard woman is leaning heavily against her, likely imprinting scale patterns into the pale skin of her shins. She’s going nowhere.

Tense, writhing, eyes screwed shut, Quinn can only begin to imagine how wet she must be.

Touch brushes against her hip in the same spot where Shyvana bit her and she’s so tightly wound that she jerks in surprise. To her delight Shyvana responds by pushing her back down hard and renewing the throbbing pain, reacquainting the spot with teeth and tongue and hot, agonizing suction.

Quinn gasps, trembles.

“Please, _please_ ,” she keens. “ _Please_ touch me.”

Shyvana only laughs. Fucker, evil horrible fucking – fuck - !

“I _am_ touching you,” she replies, positioning herself a little higher on the bed and then ghosting the tips of her fingers against Quinn’s stomach below her shirt. “And that sounded an awful lot like a demand. Don’t really think you’re in a position to make any demands.” With torturous, deliberate slowness, Shyvana undoes a single button at the bottom of the uniform’s dress shirt.

Quinn swallows again, opens her eyes to stare entreatingly up at the ceiling.

Shyvana undoes one more. Single. Lone. Button.

Quinn whines, clenching and unclenching her hands. She just wants, wants, wants so badly.

“Fuuuuuck,” she hisses.

“What was that?” Shyvana asks, painfully raking her nails up the outside of Quinn’s leg. She shudders and groans.

“I - “ she stammers.

“Maybe,” Shyvana says, undoing another button (fuck, fuck, this is taking too long!!) and looking down at her with sadistic pleasure in her vivid, inhuman eyes, “you should try asking nicely.”

“Oh, _please_ ma'am,” Quinn blurts sarcastically, rolling her eyes and wiggling her toes.

Shyvana says nothing in reply to this snark, only lowers her head back down, finds the unmarked side of Quinn’s hip, and lights up all of her perception with another sharp, horrible blast of pain as she marks her with her mouth.

Quinn swears again, a long string of words from her backwoods upbringing that would have the politicians of this shining city cringing in shock if the walls were just a little thinner.

It seems to last forever, this bite – an eternity sure to result in a vivid purple memento that will be visible for days.

When Shyvana pulls away, Quinn is shaking.

“Try again,” Shyvana growls, her voice sex and battle.

“Please ma'am,” Quinn whispers, hungry, desperate, chastened.

“Better,” she laughs, and undoes another button.

Quinn whimpers and lies still, filled to bursting with needy arousal. Can she really take much more of this? She feels like she might explode.

But she has to. She has to be good. She has to somehow convince Shyvana she’s been teased enough.

One more button. How many damned buttons can one shirt have?? Stupid poncy Demacian formal wear! She wishes Shyvana would just tear it off of her.

“Please, _please_ ,” she whines, because nope, she is not patient, that is not one of her virtues.

“Tell me what you want,” Shyvana murmurs, victory in her roiling words, in her breath now suddenly on Quinn’s neck, her body covering Quinn’s, so close, so powerful, so beautiful.

“I want you inside me,” Quinn whispers urgently.

“Mhmm?” Shyvana encourages, peppering horribly delicate little kisses along Quinn’s neck, one hand stroking along the top edge of the fabric of her underwear.

Quinn makes a pathetic noise.

“Please, please, _please_ ma'am, _please_ fuck me, please, I’m sorry for teasing you.”

She strains against the improvised bonds holding her wrists, fighting the urge to arch upwards into the gorgeous woman still fully dressed in her own uniform.

Quinn suddenly recalls that Shyvana’s had to be custom tailored to accommodate her broad shoulders, her unique and unyielding physique. This knowledge of her singularity and reminder of just what she looks like under those clothes, combined with the sight of her smirking down at her from a handspan away fills Quinn with an irresistible compulsion to touch her. She strains forward to try to kiss her and Shyvana laughingly pulls away, leaving Quinn positively squirming in her unfulfilled desire.

She smirks properly now, baring all of her pointed carnivore’s teeth, sending a thrill through Quinn.

“You almost had it, and then you went and did that,” she says, stroking Quinn’s face with taunting affection.

No, no, no!

She needs, she _needs_ \- !

Shyvana sits back on her heels, leaving Quinn feeling cold, and methodically unbuttons what’s left to go of Quinn’s shirt. Then she peels the two halves apart and cups a breast in each hand, finding where she knows nipples to be through the fabric of the bra and stroking soft muted circles with her thumb.

Quinn gasps and shudders and clenches and unclenches her fists and is still helpless and can do nothing but lie there and take it and curse her lover’s name forever.

“How badly do you want it?” Shyvana asks, soft and terrible.

“So badly,” Quinn whines.

One of the hands slips away from her breast, slides down her stomach.

“Should I check?”

“Oh, please. Please, please ma'am, please just touch me, _please_.”

“You have absolutely no dignity at all, do you?” Shyvana asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer and instead slides a firm finger down and under Quinn’s underwear, effortlessly finding her clit on the first try and sending a shock of sensation through Quinn’s body that renders her a gasping mess.

No, there’s no dignity in the bedroom when Shyvana decides to dedicate the time to wind her up like this. Quinn whimpers and strains against the wrist restraint, jerking involuntarily as Shyvana draws the length of her finger up against her in slow strokes. She opens her eyes – when did she close them – and Shyvana’s right there, her face above her, holding her pinned to the mattress with the intensity of her stare.

They lock eyes and Quinn can only exist, can only somehow manage to contrive continuing to breathe as Shyvana puts her thoroughly in her place with that look and the tremors of pleasure rocking through her with the condensed intensity of a thousand storms confined to an area the side of a fingertip.

“That’s it,” Shyvana murmurs firmly, victoriously, and then her hand speeds up and her finger presses harder and the world flips upside down as Quinn surrenders to its insanity and glory.

“Thank you,” she blubbers, “thank you ma'am, thank you,” and Shyvana rewards her with more pressure, with a downwards slip now and then that reminds her of the whole other realm of pleasure yet to be tapped into. She’s so close, so close already, her legs tense and her whole body shaking.

Then Shyvana pulls her hand away and it’s enough of a loss that Quinn feels like she might actually cry until she realizes she’s repositioning lower, pulling her underwear down her legs and tossing it to the side.

And suddenly everything is right with the world, everything is good, everything is Shyvana’s mouth on her clit and her fingers at her entrance, smooth and assured and fuck yes fuck the beautiful exciting pressure and almost-pain of Shyvana pressing inside her and fuck she’s so glad she reminded her to trim her talons this morning and it just feels so good and finally and -

Fuck it feels so good she’ll never tease Shyvana ever again and -

She thinks about the feeling of having her hands wrapped tight around the rough surface of Shyvana’s horns and remembers her bound wrists and tugs tight against them and then the feeling of being trapped combined with the perfect steady rhythm of Shyvana’s tongue and the sensation of fullness and -

Up and over the edge, and now her whole body is shaking and the world melts away and there’s only feeling and feeling is good and so much and -

And Quinn comes, and shouts something probably profane that she doesn’t really register shouting.

Through the fuzzy afterglow she watches Shyvana get up, undo and shed her own clothing (that’s probably going to need to be washed somehow in time for tonight’s ball, isn’t it) and then crawl back into bed to kneel next to her.

She methodically and gently unties the improvised wrist restraints, kisses Quinn’s hands, and then massages feeling back into her extremities she didn’t realize she’d started to lose.

Quinn smiles up at her and turns her head to kiss a scaled knee. Absently, Shyvana runs a hand through Quinn’s hair.

“You’re evil,” Quinn murmurs, and kisses her knee again.

“You started it,” Shyvana chuckles, and then chucks the belt and the pants away and settles in next to her.


End file.
